Chapter 99
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 99
Chapter Title: 23. Spirit Realm. (3)
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It felt just like drifting through a vivid nightmare.
The eerie sensation brushing against his skin made it hard for Allen to suppress the bone-deep chill of tension. It was the instinctive fear inherent to any living being.
Not long ago, this place had bustled with people, but now it lay utterly empty. The only evidence of the chaos that had erupted was the clutter of scattered items littering the streets.
The caravan folk, gripped by terror, trudged along in trembling silence, unable to even speak. They couldn't tell if this was a dream or reality.
"Odd-Eyes, no living souls at all?"
Allen clung to a sliver of hope and asked the blind saintess, who had an uncanny knack for this sort of thing. Fortunately, she sensed faint traces of life energy.
"Oh, fuck yeah, what a relief...!"
The hairy brute Gis, who looked like he could punch out a monster single-handedly, turned pale at the mere thought of ghosts.
The gum-milk swordswoman felt the same unease. It dredged up memories of those days plagued by the devil's curse... a kind of trauma.
The group trailed closely behind the leading Pingchang Saintess. This spirit realm still bore some influence from the living world, so no wandering dead had appeared yet. It was around noon by now... But come nightfall, Allen couldn't predict how this place might transform. Games let you just beat down spirits as they showed up, but reality was a different beast.
They advanced cautiously, step by step, until faint singing drifted from somewhere, drawing them hurriedly toward it. ...And they arrived before a certain building.
Ah—.
The structure with its pointed steeple bearing a sun emblem was the one place in this spirit realm touched by the divine grace of the saints... the cathedral.
The song filtering faintly through the mist sounded like a hymn. Likely survivors singing to fend off their fear.
The group hurried to the cathedral and creaked the door open just a sliver. The desperate hymn cut off abruptly, like a cliff's edge. And then, hundreds of eyes turned toward them.
The cathedral was packed with townsfolk, caravan members, mercenaries—people from all walks of life. ...These seemed to be the survivors of that tragedy.
As Allen's group entered, a middle-aged noblewoman rose from a corner pew. He instinctively sensed she held the highest position here and strode straight toward her.
"Allen Dwight Pomwell, leader of the Allen Mercenary Corps."
"I'm the city lord's wife."
The middle-aged noblewoman was the baron's wife. Her grown son and daughter stood beside her, but they lacked her commanding presence.
"What brings you here? ...Are you a rescue party?"
Her question carried faint hope. But Allen shook his head firmly.
"No. We stopped by on our way to Maljir and got swept into this place."
"...Ah...."
The hope crumbled to ash in an instant.
"What happened here, madam?"
"......I don't know. No one does. Why this horror struck..."
"Where is the baron?"
"I don't know. I was just rushing to escape with my children...."
Aside from the baroness and her children's escort knights, neither the baron nor his mercenaries were in sight. ...They must have been caught in the disaster.
......Or perhaps this mess was tied to the baron himself.
The baroness and her children had escaped, but the baron and his men hadn't—that sparked reasonable suspicion of their involvement. Of course, assigning blame now wouldn't help. First priority was uniting everyone to escape.
Allen stepped back from the baroness and gathered the mercenary leaders. Three corps had survived. Pure luck, of course.
But their morale was rock bottom. None had ideas for resolving this. They just waited for rescuers from elsewhere. ...With food and water already gone, they couldn't last four days, let alone a week. Scavenging buildings might yield scraps, but ransacking a house or two wouldn't feed hundreds.
Children already whimpered for water and food in droves. Adults suffered thirst and hunger too.
"How long has it been?"
"...About four days. Food and water ran out two days ago."
The mercenaries lay slumped, too weak from hunger to do more than sleep. ...Dragging this out clearly wasn't viable.
Allen crossed his arms tightly and addressed the listless leaders in clipped tones.
"Unfortunately, waiting for rescue isn't realistic. Even if they come, it'll be after we've all starved—or been killed by the dead."
The leaders groaned uncomfortably. He'd dragged their ignored reality into the light.
But Allen pressed on. He couldn't stop. He needed their strength now.
"Do you all know where this is?"
"......Ampere, right?"
"Not the city name. ...You've sensed this isn't normal reality."
"The devil's lair?"
The expected response. ...Hard not to think so, unless you'd mastered the Guild Master title like Allen.
"No. ...This is the spirit realm. The world of souls. Someone opened the gate to it and didn't close it, so the whole city got dragged in. ...And turned into this."
"Sp-spirit realm? Like hell?"
"Close enough."
Allen uncrossed his arms, clasped them behind his back, and waited for their panic to subside a bit.
"Since this is the spirit realm, outside rescue is unlikely. Even if it comes, like I said, we'll be dead by then. ...So shouldn't we do something?"
"What do you expect us to do? ...We just learned this is the spirit realm!"
The burly leader raised his voice, drawing anxious stares from the crowd.
Perfect. This was it—.
Nothing manipulated a crowd like mob psychology. Allen decided to leverage it.
"Fortunately..., there's a way out."
He swept his gaze around forcefully as he declared it. Hope flickered in despairing faces. Townsfolk crowded closer; even the baroness shuffled over with effort.
Everyone saw Allen as a savior. The other mercenaries too. They wanted to survive this hell.
"Close the spirit realm gate again. Then we return to the living world."
Ooh—.
Cheers of hope erupted. ...But the battle-hardened leaders instinctively knew it wouldn't be easy.
"How do we close it?"
"The gate's somewhere in the city. Near it will be the catalyst object—destroy that."
"......That simple?"
Allen shook his head, of course. If it were, he wouldn't be rallying them like this.
"It won't just sit there unguarded. Expect guardians. ...Heavy casualties, possible failure. But will you stay here and do nothing? If there's even a narrow chance through a crack, we squeeze through. ...At least I'm not dying sitting still."
"That's true, but...."
"If you're scared, I won't force you. No spare lives to babysit when my own's at risk."
He slyly baited them. "Scared" was a trigger word for mercenaries.
"......Ahem. Not scared!"
"Then what's the problem? We're dead anyway."
One leader muttered as if to himself.
"Yeah, we have to. What choice now.... Like Allen said, dead either way...."
A high-stakes gamble. But with nothing left to bet, they had to roll the dice.
Once resolve formed, Allen bellowed dramatically, stirring them further.
"Only the brave will join me! ...Anyone up for it?"
He approached each leader, extending a hand like for a handshake. Grab it if you're committed.
The three exchanged brief glances. Then each gripped and shook Allen's hand firmly.
"......Dead this way or that, might as well try something!"
"A way out? Count us in."
"We'll follow your lead."
Townsfolk roared cheers and applause at the hope of survival. The faint-hearted wept.
Even the baroness bowed slightly to the four leaders, unprecedented for her.
"Please, save this city...!"
Allen's group divided their food and water among the other mercenaries. It wasn't enough for twenty-plus parched souls, but a little stomach-filler would give them strength.
Staying put was pointless anyway. Allen planned to ride this momentum.
Before departing, Allen's corps took a brief time for gear checks and rest. He embraced each member warmly, one by one.
"Let's do this."
Natasha's turn came soon. The gum-milk swordswoman nestled into his arms. He held her far longer than the others. ...As if aware of her trauma.
"Tell me anytime if it's tough. Don't suffer in silence. You and I—we're special. My arms are always open for you. Come when it hurts. Anytime. ...Got it?"
His gentle voice spread warmth through her like a soothing fire. He even planted a blessing kiss atop her head.
Allen gazed at Natasha warmly for a long moment before moving on. She pretended nonchalance, dropping her eyes back to sharpening her sword on the whetstone. ...But his tender whisper and gaze lingered in her mind, refusing to fade.
......Affection disguised as deep friendship struck suddenly like that, shaking her heart before vanishing.